


His Hoard

by cannibalisticshadows



Series: Avi's Anyem & Anyelle One-Shots [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Screenplay (TV 1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anyelle, F/M, Fic Exchange, May Day Menagerie, Transformation, Wyverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalisticshadows/pseuds/cannibalisticshadows
Summary: Belle's the daughter of a very wealthy man... That makes her a princess, in some ways. Nosty's kind is all down for that.





	His Hoard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MintIceTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintIceTea/gifts).



> For MintIceTea--I'm so excited to give this to you! Haha, I'm still laughing that we got to write Nostelle for each other ;D Enjoy, friend!

Sometimes Nosty just needed to bleed to know he was still there.

Glass, knives, his own fucking nails—as long as he could break through this shell, he could remember the truth of what he was. What he’d lost. 

“Yer on a thin fuckin’ line, burd,” he said, feeling his tongue slither against his front teeth which felt way too small. 

The bird—and what a tiny little thing she was!—was standing on the edge of the pier, looking into the murky waters with active eyes. Nosty didn’t think she was trying to jump in; no, the bird had to have lost something. Her nose was scruntched up and her brows knitted together, and her hands wrung the hem of her modest pink blouse. 

When she heard him, the bird spun around with a look of pure shock sparking in her blue eyes. Blue eyes which made him think of sapphire. Pretty, pretty sapphire.

“Oh!” She gasped, instinctifully moving back as her shock subsided—oh boy.

“Oi! Didn’t ya hear meh, ya glaikit chick?” Nosty spat, wrenching her arm forward to shove her down onto the wooden docks. She yelped once, stumbled over her ridiculously high heels (damn, she had to be loaded with shoes like that) before gaining her balance to stand.

She stared at him as if he had two heads—wouldn’t be the first time. Pretty little thing like her could only see him as a monster. Not that he ever tried to hide that fact. “…You just saved me,” the cheeky thing said, near gasping. 

He snorted, shoving his winter-cracked hands into his thin pockets, wind blowing his kilt and locks. “Dinnae yer mum tech ye aboot nae walkin’ tae close tae the edge?”

“My mom’s dead,” she said, still staring at him like he was the motherfucking Massiah. Great. Just want he needed. A crazy bird. Perhaps he should’ve let her go over.

“Gae home, burd,” he pushed past her. His skin was itchy, and the air was too cold. He needed a nice pint to drink and the warmth of a nice fire and his lads. 

“Wait!” She called out, clopping after him on those horrid shoes like a over-active child. “I need to repay you!”

Nosty sniffed. If she was offering money, then he’d take it. 

“Please, let me pay back—you just saved my life! I can’t let that go!”

“Ah dinnae wan’ charity,” he warned, “but Ah ain’t picky.”

“Then come home with me. I don’t live far away—“

“Uh-uh, nae way,” he shook his head. No way. No way he was going inside. Too small—he needs the open air. “Sorry, chicky, Ah need tae gae.” And before the bird, _such a pretty little bird_ , could stop him he was gone.

~.~.~

Belle wasn’t sure what to make of the man who snatched her from a unwanted swim that foggy winter morning, but she did know one thing: something was very unique about him.

Originally, Belle planned to spend her day off from work at home, reading in her favorite spot by her bay window. It was only resently she moved from home, after much arguments with her father—she wanted to be independent, and having her own little place to call home felt like freedom itself. 

But not everything goes as planned.

Gaston and his groupies came with their girlfriends, coaxing her to come to the mall with them. Not particularly wanting to, but unable to decline as Gaston was her father’s “son he never had”, and more or less initialed to at least some outings with the man, she reluctantly agreed.

Only for them to dispearse two hours later near the docks, where in a drunken prank Belle’s purse was tossed over into the water in a childish game of monkey in the middle. She hated being the monkey.

And that was how she found herself stranded (Gaston, the coward, claimed he would go get help to fish her bag out of the murky cold waters—and that was twenty minutes ago) at the docks and trying to see if she could spot her bag. She just leaned over and—

“Yer on a thin fuckin’ line, burd.”

The man, manky and thin and sporting an oversized jacket and kilt (in this weather?) with long dreads and scared yelled out to her from several feet away—it startled her, naturally, but she and her clumsy self lost the footing—

And suddenly she was being yanked back from a potential watery grave. How did he move so fast?

He was rude. But he did save her, and so Belle needed to find a way to repay his kindness. By the looks of it the nameless Scot wasn’t exactly in the best of situations. Perhaps she’d pay—but her purse was at the bottom of the Thames by now.

But he left as quickly as he came, like a gust of wind.

Disapointed, she decided that waiting around for a (another) miracle was pointless. So she walked home and hailed a taxi. All she had to do was say who her father was, and the means for the ride was taken care of.

~.~.~.~

Belle didn’t see the man again until a week later.

He was standing in the alley way beside the library where she worked—hunched over with his hair in his face, hard and dark eyes glaring at everything and nothing. It was raining, and the day was coming close to an end. Why wasn’t he home, yet? She thought of the way he dressed. It was perhaps, she deduced, he didn’t have a home. Poor man—she still had to repay him for last week. 

“Hey, you!”

She didn’t have a name for him.

He jerked his head up, looking not surprised, but annoyed at being pulled from whatever dreary daydream he must have been having. If possible he glared harder. “Whit ye starin’ ah, burd? See som’in ye like?”

Belle sniffed politely. “It’s raining.”

“An’ th’sky’s blue.”

“Come inside,” she coaxed, fearlessly approaching the man. “You’ll catch your death.”

He looked right close to snearing at her, but with a soft hand, she reached out and patted his arm.

He froze up, and stared at her as if she’d slapped him. For a long, agonizing moment, he did nothing but stare. When she tugged on his jacket and opened her mouth to ask him again—

“Fine. Nothin’ out here anyway.”

And so she had the near-drowned Scotsman follow her inside her wee library. The gleaming marble walls sparkled in the chandelier’s lighting, dancing like shadows from angels. Stoic stone lions guarded the entrance, paws over big shiny pearls. The man snorted, but she wasn’t sure what he found funny. 

The few patrons she had left stopped what they were doing to stare at them—mainly her guest—and all but gave disappointing or worried glances. She paid them no mind. This was her place, so she could very well choose whom she welcomed and when!

“Come on,” Belle directed her ragged savor to her private office. Excited to finally give back to him, she motioned to a chair at the small circular table she had her midday tea at. His nose flared. “How do you take your tea?” She asked him, going to put the kettle on.

“Surprise me, birdy,” he crowed with more of an understandable accent, though she could still pick up the roll of his r’s.

She smiled and flicked on the electric pot’s power switch. “My name is Belle, by the way.”

“Belle—“ he coughed. “Belle French.”

Her face fell. “Ah. So you’ve heard of me.”

“Hard nawt tae,” the man’s slim shoulders shrugged up carelessly. “Yer daddy’s a big guy.”

She made no comment to this. “What’s your name?”

“Eh? M’Nosty.”

“Nosty?”

He immediately became tense; glaring, he frowned through a curtain of his hair. Shaking her head she took out the cups and creamer and sugar, setting them down on the table. Nosty didn’t try to make small talk.

He was so tightly bundled up that she wondered if he was trying to shrink into his own clothes. Then again, when she questioned his odd name his persona shifted like a switchblade being unsheathed. All he seemed apt to do was sit there in the chair like a sulking baby bear. A vicious baby bear. She did catch the way his eyes scanned the room—that sable gaze of his lingering on the shiniest of her items. Mainly the gold. 

She tried to remind herself that, despite his act of saving her last week, he could have been a dangerous individual that could snap at any moment and rob her office. Yet she still owed him.

Without any more trouble, she manged to pour him a nice, hot cup of tea with one lump of sugar and a drop of milk. Nosty said nothing when she slid the saucer with its cup clicking across the table to him. 

“How about we take that jacket off you—“

“Nae.”

“Ah—?”

“Ah said, nae. Ah’m keepin’ it.”

“Alright, then,” she shook her head.

They drank the tea in silence.

~.~.~.~

“Here,” the wee bird offered him a handful of cash, making him think of a priestess offering up a sacrificial lamb. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

She was a weird one—but still pretty in his eyes. He liked the way her hips were, and her modest bust and long, ruddy brown hair. Young French liked her shoes high, though.

“Nae,” he sneered, shoving her charity away. “Ah dinnae want it.”

“I must give you something.”

“That,” he said, jerking his head.

“Wha—the fabergé egg?”

“Aye.”

Oh, how he wondered over her ability to heed orders. A nice chit like her, not even batting an eye as she gave him the nice lump of jewels. Was she really the daughter of the Maurice French? Gah. Maurice was practically a fuckin’ king. That would make her a princess.

Princesses…

The egg felt warm in his hands as she gave it to him. 

“Is that all you want?”

He leered. “Ye offerin’ more, sweet?”

Belle’s eyes hardened at bit. Well, at least she wasn’t completely daft.

Though she was playing nice with him, like a child treating a wild animal as a mother treats a babe, he still barred his teeth and flashed his true colours at her. He had to keep his ground.

But it was quickly crumbling.

He smelled her hair before he left—she squeeked as he grabbed a nice shiny tress of her locks, sniffing it like a crack head getting his fix. She smelled like roses and royalty.

Aw, hell.

To keep her in line, he smacked her ass before hopping out of the place. He stuffed the egg in his jacket as he made a fast escape to his meager domain. It would look nice in his collection. Nosty could think of a few other things he’d like to add, but one thing had a time. Besides, this era wasn’t his time anymore. 

~.~.~.~

 

Belle was speechless as her guest left the building. The butt-slap was not what she’d expected. 

Loosing her grandmother’s egg wasn’t anything to cry over; it was nothing she had any value with anyway; it just looked nice on her desk. Plus she was happy to give Nosty something back—her deapt to him was paid, but something still lingered in her gut.

Confused by the moment between them, she decided to close up early for the day and head home for some rest. 

~.~.~.~

Belle was being followed.

Not particularly sure how she knew, besides the faint feeling of paranoia and the hairs on her nape standing on end, Belle still chose to carry a thing of pepper spray on her just in case.

Yet that fear was diminished when she figured out that, yes, she was being followed, but that her stalker was none other than Nosty. How curious.

His distant presence didn’t bother her as much as it should have. He was like a shadow, always there but not within her reach. It was almost sweet—he tended to stick several yards away from her, glaring at everything around her. Never at her, though. 

She left out offerings of food on her library’s steps—labeled with his name—and sometimes small things made of jewel. He never accepted money from her—the money, if she tried to leave it for him, was never taken. Only things like jewelry did he accept. And Nosty took her other gifts. She knew, because once she brought a grand new jacket and set it out for him. He wore it the next time she saw him—in the distance, almost hidden in the loud, messy crowds of London.

With each new day her Scotsman became bolder; his bolded was like a magnet that drew him a little bit closer to her until one Monday she found herself walking home from work with him directly behind her. Having a better idea of how his mind worked, Belle said nothing except to acknowledge his being there—and making sure that he knew she didn’t mind.

Nosty didn’t have a good since of boundaries. She offered him to come inside once she reached her flat (dinner would be Chinese delivery, she decided). He, on the verge of leering at her again with those big crooked teeth of his, snorted wordlessly before waltzing in. He reminded her of a tiger being set loose in a new enclosure. 

Belle took his jacket and shoes; gave him something warm to drink and a place to sit. He complained and criticized her on her home—she didn’t care. Seeing as nothing would really move her, he tried to insult her—

She made it very clear she wouldn’t be spoken badly of in her own home. He never did it again.

As a reward for his good behavior, she gave him the gold teacup that she rarely used (it had a chip on the side). It seemed to delight him.

~.~.~.~

Nosty became quite the oddity of her life within the following months. In all the relationships she’s had, Belle couldn’t say that any one was as unique as the one she had with Nosty. 

He came over, ate her food, grumbled about nothing in particular, and wouldn’t settle until something… shiny was put into his greedy hands. She wasn’t sure it was the money—it was the object itself he seemed to be fascinated with. The man didn’t seem to better himself with the new found wealth; he stayed about the same. Only when she pushed him to wash or wear something clean did he look any better. Belle had no idea where he took her gifts. She never asked him.

But around the time Spring was approaching, her curious Scotsman was becoming less and less present.

It bothered her. 

She wasn’t sure where she could place her finger on the source, but overall she knew with each passing day Nosty seemed to be more… distant. 

“Have you seen a man around here—has dread locks and a kilt?”

The other man—she assumed he was a drug dealer, just because he was standing on the corner of a intersection and nearly asked her _‘what’ll it be, love?’_ before she asked her question—stared at her with a wary love. 

“Nosty?”

“Yes!” Her heart leapt with hope. Nosty didn’t come—home? When did she consider her home his?—last night for dinne, or the night before. It was unlike him.

The other man shook his head. “Whatever he’s dealing I can do for less.”

She glared. “I want Nosty. He’s my friend.”

“Oh. So it’s that kinda thing, huh? What, is he not holding out long eno—“

Belle didn’t know what the man was going to say but she had no interest to. Holding herself from slapping him, she spun around and walked away. It wasn’t safe to hang around this part of town afterhours, but she was worried about Nosty. She hadn’t seen him for more than a passing glance on the street in a whole week! 

Shaking her head, Belle continued on the shady street with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets, walking against the wind that blew against her face and bit at her cheeks. Her watchful blue eyes flickered around, looking for her friend. Had something happened to him? Perish the thought! But she had no way of contacting him.

It was just after six when she was nearing her part of town. She sniffed, rolling her shoulders to guard her from the cold. Maybe she should hail a taxi… it was getting dark—

“Hey, little lady.”

Belle froze.

Like a ghost, a pair of men came slinking out of the shadows of a alley way. Rough looking and taller than she, they seemed to loom over her with a (and she hated to admit this) intimidating leer. It wasn’t like Nosty’s “nasty” smiles—he never harmed her outside of his attempts at pushing her buttons verbally (and the occasional smack on the bottom). 

“Are you lost?” One of the Englishmen asked her. Belle didn’t linger, just shook her head and walked on. 

“Hey, we’re talkin here,” the other man said in a fading Irish accent. “You look a little lost, honey. Why don’t we come with?”

“No, thank you.”

“What? Are you too good for us? We gents.”

“I said, no thank you, sirs.”

“She thinks she’s too good for us,” the shorter of the two males said, spatting. “Get a load of that shit.”

Belle was raising her hand to hail a cab, when suddenly one of the men reached out and grabbed her purse—oh, hell no. She just got this one. Nosty said it brought out the red in her hair.

“Hey! Let me go!”

“Naw, see here missy,” he said, “we’s tryna be nice here.”

“I said I do not need help; now please let me go or I will scream!”

“That’s now how this works—“ He touched her waist—

What happened next happened too fast for her to process.

One moment, she was being backed into a metaphorical corner by two burly men, and the next she had her own personal space back. A loud, sickening crunch tore through the air like a siren in the dead of night. Someone yelled, but it was muffled by another, and another crack of something hard.

“She said nae! Nae means nae!” A thick Scottish voice snarled, sounding deeper, throatier, and much much more darker than she had ever heard it sound before. “Fuckers!”

Belle pressed herself against the side of the building beside her, staring with wide eyes as she saw the flash of dreads and a plaid skirt. Nosty, naturally.

“Nosty?”She gasped, unharmed besides shocked. “Nosty? Where have you been—stop! Stop, they’ve had enough!”

He was beating the men. In her hast to make sure her friend was okay, she nearly forgot her almost-attackers. She bolted to his side and gripped his arm, shaking for him.

And he was shaking—near violently. He was dirty again, with the smell of the streets and the sour tang of marijuana tainting his being. He stood over the men heaving, almost drooling at the mouth as he spat horrid threats of what he would do to them. She, though, would have none of it. Nosty was better than that, and she wouldn’t let him harm them any further. “Nosty, stop.”

Finally, finally he turned and stared at her. 

She gasped. 

His eyes—oh, god, his eyes—were _glowing_. 

“N-Nosty—“

He rentched away from her as if she’d hurt him. With an inhuman growl, Nosty flung himself opposite of the alley away and made a mad dash to a back door—she, momentarily stunned, barely took a moment to decide to chase after him.

He, followed by her, ran through the abandoned building, feet thumping against the ground. Belle panted with the energy put out to keep up, but—she had to—

“NOSTY!?” She called out, finding herself on the roof of the warehouse. Nosty must know this place, she thought faintly. Panicing, she frantically looked around with her hands shaking by her side.

And lo, there he was, standing at the far edge with his back to her.

“Nosty!” She ran up to him. “Wha—“

“Stay there, burd,” he snapped. “Or I’ll snap that little neck of yours.”

Unfazed by his threat, she approached him until she could almost touch him. He was trembling.

“Nosty,” she said as calmly as she could, “where have you been?”

“Aut,” he replied snippily, “none ouf yer fuckin’ bees wax.”

“Like hell it is. Come down from there and explain to me what happened back there—“

Nosty jerked his head around to face her.

She stepped back.

His eyes were an abnormal color she hadn’t expected. They glowed with an unholy gold, gazing back at her as if he could stare into her very soul. Like fire, his expression mirrored the intensity of his eyes. Snarling like a beast, “Back awf.”

“Nosty… Come here…”

“Nae,” he shook his head and took a step closer to the edge. “Ye need tae gae. Bad ‘nuff bein wit ye.”

She only blinked back owlishly. 

“Ye—princess, dear,” he hushed.

It wasn’t the first time he called her princess. She had never liked the name princess, though her father called her that from time to time as did her friends, but from Nosty it was… different. Sometimes he spat the word as if he hated it, othertimes he said it as if it was an actual truth, and it should be respected.

“Princess,” he said again, “Ah’m a monster, and ye need to gae.”

“Or what?”

“Or—“ Nosty swallowed. “Ah’ll steal ye, tae.”

“Too?”

He growled—it sounded like the roar of a furnace. “Ah—Ah canna keep—my skin—“

Oh, Nosty. His skin, it did seem, looked like it was flush with fever, and his eyes, though they burned something inhuman and frightening, seemed to be coming from something else. His fists were clenched at his side.

“Gae!”

“No! Nosty, talk to me—“ _God just please step away from the edge can come here please god don’t leave me just be okay—_

“Fuck, Belle!” He yelled. “Ye’ll see what a beast Ah am!”

And then he jumped.

~.~.~.~

It hurt, like it always did.

His skin morphed and pulled over his braking bones, shifting and cracking with each spark of magic running through him. He twisted his body, opening his arms wide to let the wind take him—

And he was free, finaly. Free from this shell—

He heard his little princess scream—in fear of what, he didn’t know, but came to it like a wasp to honey. Even from up here she smelled sweet and pure. His to keep and protect. His to own.

He touched the ground and clicked his claws, shifting his winged arms to stand before her in all his scaled glory. What did she think of him now? Would she still want to feed him all her little treats? Would she still give him all her little treasures for him to hold close and call his?

She was so very pretty. 

“Nosty,” she gasped, hands to her mouth. She started at him like she’d never seen him before, but fuck it. He stood still and let her see his horridness. What was a nice princess like her going to do with a goddamn monster. This was no longer his time in history. He was supposed to be dead, like his brothers.

“Nosty,” she said again, but louder this time. “Nosty you’re a—a—“

 _“Dragon.”_ He hissed through his long throat, tongue slithering out against his long crooked teeth. 

“Oh my god, oh my go—why didn’t you _tell_ me, sweetheart?”

He hadn’t expected that.

“Nosty,” she said softly, and—came closer. Oh fuck she was coming closer, saying his name like it actually meant something. “Nosty, this is— _incredible_. How—I have so many questions.”

What what what why wasn’t she running the fuck away—

“Let’s go home, Nosty,” she said, and reached out to him as if he wasn’t long and hideous and scaled and green and gold—like he wasn’t a monster.

She touched his nose.

He wanted to sob.

Softly, she leaned down until she was on his needs. Body already low, his head followed her until she could guid his snout to her—

She kissed him. Kissed his cold ugly mug like he was important to her. Her lips felt warm against his glittering gold skin, sending sparks of fire throughout his body. And it wasn't him, this time.

“Let’s go home,” she said again. “But... where is that? Mine or your—hoard? Is that why you only accept jewels? Do you keep them somewhere?”

Oh god what even was she.

No, he thought with a mental shake of his great big head. He did know what she was, this weird bird Belle. She was _his_. There was no denying it now.

And probably, he thought with a deep chuckle as she climbed onto his back, she always had been.


End file.
